Writing is simple,but not easy.

December 28, 2011

Fliegen

A famous couple had died that afternoon.


Two bullet shots were heard outside the compound.

As instructed, the seargents took the bodies upstairs and set them alight.

The world rejoiced at the fall of the Fuhrer.

Miles away from the Fuhrerbunker – Adolf Hitler & Eva boarded a millitary jet to  fly away into mystery forever.









Gyanban thoughts – Fliegen is a German word for Fly.This 55 fiction gave me something to think about when I was researching the story.Adolf Hitler’s death is known to be by a single gun shot to his right temple.Later his body was burnt along with his wife Eva Braun. The information about his death was inconsistenly released, some of which is still kept a secret.

Different versions of Hitler's fate were presented by the Soviet Union according to its political desires. In the years immediately following 1945, it maintained Hitler was not dead but had fled and was being shielded by former western allies.This worked for a time to cause western authorities some doubt. The chief of the U.S. trial counsel at Nuremberg, Thomas J. Dodd, said: "No one can say he is dead."

When President Truman asked Joseph Stalin at the Potsdam conference in August 1945 whether or not Hitler was dead, Stalin replied bluntly, 'No'. However, by 11 May 1945, the Soviets had already had Hitler's dentist Hugo Blaschke and his dential technician confirm the dental remains found were Hitler's and Eva Braun's.

But the question remains, why was information on Hitler’s death not an open text book in the first place? What could possibly be hidden? I leave it to your imagination…


information courtesy :wikipedia.

December 18, 2011

Bearer



They came in a hurry
With their minds blurry
They raged and cried
Some tears dried.

They came happy sad or frayed,
Romantic or hearbroken everyday,
Thoughts screaming out loud,
Some down but not out.


I travelled with their lives
Everyday noons or nights,
They told me their stories,
Some ambitions,wishesh or glories.

I smiled and help them move on
Crossed the crossings forlorn,
Cushioned them on the bends
Some twists and some turns.

Today I stand alone as a former,
Quietly ensconced in a dark corner
Waiting for the grinder
A gruelling end,and a gentle reminder
Life is just like a passenger…



Gyanban Thoughts – this poem is written from the point of view of a Taxi.The title Bearer is aptly fit the sentiment of the poem.So many stories unfold in his daily life, so many travellers join him in the brief journey,yet no one ever told his story.No one ever cared what happened to him? Where was the time or need ? They were there everytime we needed them,we travelled and reached our destinations time and gain.But did you stop and care of what happened to them ? Or did you rationalise it out of your lives ? Quite similar to our lives isnt't it? How we forget those people who took us to our destinations...

Life is just like a passenger,always  looking forward to the next destination but seldom realising how important the journey was...

December 12, 2011

Sapphic






Dear Appa


I know you have dreams for me,
I know you have faith in me,
I know you have nurtured me,
But I want to fly away.

I know you have sat beside me,
I know you have cried with me,
I know you have died with me,
But I want to fly away.

I know you sacrificed for me
I know you struggled for me
I know you tried for me,
But I want to fly away.

I know you love me,
I know you care,
I know you would dare,
But I wish you just let me be, me.


~Your selfish daughter
Rachna




After scribbling these few lines, Rachna, threw away the paper and sat in silence gazing blankly outside the window overlooking the crowded city.

‘I just have to do this – I’ve got to tell Appa’ she emphasized in hr mind.

‘But what if he reacts badly? What if he gets stressed...what if something happens to him? I would live in regret for the rest of my life’ she contradicted.

‘Yet if I don’t, then I will regret all my life as well. Regret is constant in either case. The question is which is the lesser one?’

It was almost time for Mr.A.P.V. Janardhan Reddy, Chief Engineer for Government projects, to come home. “Reddy garu” as he was popularly called, was a simple, honest man in a maze of politics and corruption. It was a quirk of fate that he had managed to survive this long without succumbing to the shackles of corruption. His reputation was unquestionable and often was the cause of envy for people who liked and disliked him.

He had a small family, his wife Mrs.Geetha Reddy, and daughter Rachna. They lived in the government quarters nearby. His life was simple, routine and uncomplicated. Not that he was chauvinistic, but he had clear expectations from his life. He would earn,Geetha would cook, and Rachna would get married to a nice simple next door boy,preferably another government employee, and settle close to their neighbourhood.

But that was about to change tonight.





‘Geetha – I am home’ he announced his arrival.

‘Your tea is ready why don’t you go freshen up first’ said Geetha.

‘Hmm what’s there to eat?’

Chekkalu and some Upma but first wash up and relax’ Geetha’s voice trailed off  as she went into the kitchen.


Rachna heard her father’s voice.


‘This is it Rach, you will have to break the news today’ she thought.
Yet the conflicting voice in her was equally strong and persistent.


‘Appa, I want to talk to you’ she said gingerly.


‘Oh you are at home, I didn’t realise that – I thought you were out with friends. By the way, did you meet the boy I asked you to? What’s his name? Girish I think – seems like a decent boy, he has done his B-Tech from Vellore, and unlike others, he prefers to work for the government. I think he has a bright future –India needs….’

‘Appa’ Rachna interrupted rather agitatedly.

‘Appa I’ve got a job with Bottlecaps – ‘ she paused for a reaction, but got none.


‘Its India’s first gay pub – she paused for a reaction’ she got none. Her father kept looking at her, something more was to come.


‘As their first woman restaurant manager’ – her mouth had dried, she gulped slowly.

‘and…’ .

Generally, the most outrageous thing that Mr.A.P.V. Reddy had ever heard or assessed was how his colleague’s son left electronic engineering to go pursue a career in Veterinary sciences. But this was outside his vocabulary of imagination or even remote fantasy. The flurry of questions in his mind were blocking his ability to react ,speak or gesture.

The stillness in the room was palpable. The Upma remained glued in between the mouth and the throat, the half eaten Chekkalu looked on blankly,the curtains stopped swaying,the tea broke free from the cup and sprinkled on Geetha’s hands,but she did not react either.


Rachna could hear her heartbeats, her fathers and her mothers, amplified ten times.

‘And Appa – I am…  – I don’t like men – getting married to a man would not only ruin his life, but mine as well.’


The fan tried to flip  the pages of the Deccan Chronicle, but it soaked in the oil from the Upma and lay down still smudging the snippet  'India's first...'















Gyanban Thoughts ~ This is the concluding part of the poem Rumination written previously. Sometimes breaking the news to family is the most toughest thing - more so, if you know for sure that it might bring about havoc - but the dilemma and the price one has to pay for not sharing the news is massive and takes a toll.Sapphic means homosexual. This post is dedicated to all those people who have a different sexual orientation and preference.We need to respect every individuals choice - we need to peacefully coexist without discrimination.


Whether we subscribe to a particular belief or not  is immaterial, we cannot   dictate what is the mass consensus - because if tomorrow the mass consensus against homosexuality changes , then that will be the norm of the society and heterosexuality will standout. So lets respect each other and live peacefully.

December 8, 2011

Rumination

Dear Appa





I know you have dreams for me,
I know you have faith in me,
I know you have nurtured me,
But I want to fly away.

I know you have sat beside me,
I know you have cried with me,
I know you have died with me,
But I want to fly away.

I know you sacrificed for me
I know you struggled for me
I know you tried for me,
But I want to fly away.

I know you love me,
I know you care,
I know you would dare,
But I wish you just let me be, me.




~ Rachna Reddy






Gyanban Thoughts - These few lines are a precursor to the story that follows in my next post - Dear Appa. This one talks about trapped feelings that so many youngsters have which they cannot express and suffer internally.In this age of over-communication people often miss the thousands of words spoken in silence.

image courtesy : here

November 28, 2011

Almost Famous



Visible to the world for exactly two minutes and thirty seconds. She would slip back to anonymity for the next 12 hours or so.She had just completed her segment on the weather updates. The same thing she had done for the last five years with the popular news channel DNTV 24/7. Her life revolved around rains in Mumbai to the sunshine in Nevada.

Nobody ever saw her hanging out with friends or ever heard of her family. She just came did her job and went back. Damini Mathur, 31,dressed in a grey suit with a black turtleneck top, and sharp pointed black shoes, looked every bit a news anchor material- a job which she pinned for but never made the cut. Ever since she first saw Salma Sultan on Doordarshan news – she had wanted to be a newsreader, be famous one day just like her.



That night she headed back from the studios in her modest metallic black Maruti Alto. It started to drizzle heavily and then quickly intensified into heavy rain. The roads were dark, empty and with a near zero visibility she drove on gingerly. The FM music switched on in the background kept her calm. The drive from office in Okhla Industrial Estate to her residence wasn’t all that far or difficult. However, soon the rain intensified and lashed the windshield furiously making it difficult to drive.

She was about 5 kilometers away from her home when the visibility levels became zero. The rain had blinded the windshield of the car. She stopped the car. Suddenly the FM switched off. She tried tuning into other stations but the antenna caught on to nothing.

There was an eerie duality in the scene – silence and noise coexisted in the form of rain and fear. The headlights were on, but they could only see water and darkness ahead – an abridged hope. 

The wheels could only feel the chilling water and the dying heat of the engine. The cold outside the door and heater inside the car fought a constant battle. The calmness in her, and the calamity outside, struggled to break –in to each other’s defenses.

Just as this battle was raging on, there was a tap on the door. She pretended to not hear it the first time. A few seconds later the tap got louder. The windows were rolled up and she strained her eyes to check if the door lock was up. She was trembling, shivering with cold and fear accelerated the pulse. The car heater had probably lost its battle with the cold outside. But she held on.


Her neck was taut with tension and her fist-clenched stiff. She was looking right ahead without blinking her eyes. A blink could lose her advantage of the vigil. The car air conditioner got switched on, the temperature in the car plummeted to 15C – yet the knob was on red, indicating the heater was on. 

As she sat upright in the car trying not to scream, her breathing got heavier and every now and then her feet muscles started to cramp. She decided to start the car and brave the rain. The ignition made a muted sound and announced its dysfucntionality.


There was a warm air blowing on her neck. The pulse flickered like a dying bulb. The sweat turned cold. The rear-view mirror looked at her knowingly. But she avoided looking back. The eerie silence returned to haunt her, however, this time not alone. She sensed someone in the back seat of the car.

As a flash of lightning contrasted the tinted window glass,a  warm palm placed on her right shoulder triggered a shock wave through her body.


That’s all she recalled the next day. 

She sat up in her bed watching the news as usual before going to work. The coffee machine indicated that her double shot espresso was ready to glide down her throat. As she walked up slowly to get her cuppa, she glanced over the running ticker of her news channel, which read –

“Breaking news – weather claims a weather girl’s life”



















Gyanban Thoughts - sometimes being famous is not by design.There are so many lives spent chasing the eternal fame but it keeps escaping them.The film industry is one such example where scores of lives go unnnoticed.A close second would be television,where we see so many people but hardly ever notice them.So many news anchors hog our attention but barring a few, rarely we remember any of them or even their names leave alone remembering the support staff like the folks who give us the weather forecast for example.This short story is dedicated to them.The alternate title for this was Weather or not but I opted for Almost Famous owing to the connection it made to the story.

November 20, 2011

Hourglass

The last fading glance,
The road and increasing distance,
Trying to hold on
To her last fragrance.

A simmering flame touches,
A  solitary window watches,
One light switched on,
One hope hooked on.

Starlit sky and biting cold,
Tear drops and curled bed folds,
Those longing eyes wait,
Her walk through the gates.

Morning again,a new hope runs
Dodging twists and turns
Holding on  for her return,
A bleeding heart never learns.

As the hourglass trickled,
His breath stifled
The waiting eyes kept gazing,
As the heart stoppped breathing.














Gyanban Thoughts - a few lines for those waited...forever.For those who never got a second chance, or the second glance.For those who dreamed of a life together of  a journey forever.Very few people value the love they have,until it's gone.They have no idea how life could be otherwise...








Onesingleimpression

November 13, 2011

Tailor - New Stiches


‘What is it you want for your birthday my love? He asked.

She kept quiet,partly because she couldn’t breathe.

‘Don’t be afraid, tell me dear?’ He implored.

‘I want a sewing kit,I ‘d like to knit a sweater’ she whispered.

‘Ah is that it?.

He let go off her throat,and Chloe collapsed on the bed.



But I liked her fingers.Tender ,long,soft and caring.

Chloe was the perfect housewife.I loved her.

She cooked well,knit well and stiched well.

She kept me safe near her bed at all times.

But one day I realised she was using me.

Instead of cloth my blades were dipped in flesh.

Tender fingers can mislead you sometimes.










Gyanban Thoughts - this fiction short story is narrated in two different angles.One from the point of view of the wife and the other from the point of view of the scissor.I tried to keep both the versions to 55 words or thereabouts which was difficult.I keep trying to challenge myself to use usual ,everyday scenarios to write something plausible yet present it with a different angle.I hope the readers enjoyed this one.

Tailor

November 2, 2011

Eventides


As the spring blooms in glory,

As the daffodils chuckle away a story,

Joy and happiness swing melody,

Eventides come, Eventides go.


As the scorching sun boasts,

As the summer heat gloats,

Some fight to live,other live to fight,

Eventides come, Eventides go.


As the autmn leaves fall,

As the winter snow sneaks in,

Wriggle my heart for love once more,

Eventides come, Eventides go.


As the drisle of raindrops roll,

As the distant thunder scrolls,

Fight the fright,and heartbreak,


Eventides come, Eventides go.

As our lives wax and wane,

As our future, special and mundane,

It’s our history,the boon and the bane.

Make a difference,or just let go,

Eventides come, Eventides go.






Gyanban Thoughts - Each of our lives go through up's and downs, we get chance to make a difference in both these phases.However, in most cases we chose to ignore or forget about it. It's about making a diffenrece while we can, making each crest and trough count and make it worthwhile.Who knows there is realization, there maybe no tomorrow.

Written for onesingleimpression prompt - Sunset.

October 25, 2011

Fireflies


When I wait for you in those lonesome nights,
When the sun doesn’t shine ever so bright,
When the moonlight hides somewhere in the skies,
Hope floats in just like fireflies.

When sleep would sulk and eyes sink,
When pillows would fight and dreams shrink,
When the sheets wouldn’t flutter in the skies,
Tears would watch those fireflies.


I ride on horses with flying wings,
And fly away with the melancholy swings,
In a dreamer's dreams,and touch doesn't lie,
Floating with the fireflies.

Like the bed-sheet sails, and the wooden box,
The jungle trails,and the lonely rocks.
Like swaying trees,and the caressing breeze,
Dew drops on grass and fireflies tease.

The night’s gone and the dawn is near,
My dreams are over, and the reality is clear.
Mornings never show the day,
But come darkness again,fireflies will light my way.






Gyanban Thoughts - hope is just like fireflies isnt it? In the darkness of life,when we have no hope, somewhere there are those beautiful fireflies reminding us of the impending light.
These few lines are dedicated to hope and positivity in spite of all odds, because I believe hope and positivity can be  mutually exclusive.
image courtesy: here.

October 19, 2011

Children, Special Children


For those who no one kissed,
For those who no one fed,
For those who no one cared,
There is a friend.

For those who never saw the sun,
For those who never had fun,
For those who never heard a chirp,
For those who never had a burrp,
There is a friend.

Children, special children
Your garden of hope is not barren.
There is a friend, my friend,
The ones you can count on and depend.
One of them is reading this,
And the other, above allof us.











Gyanban Thoughts - When was the last time you actually took a day out of your life and spent some time with special child? No I am not talking about donating money,food or clothes - though that is good, but we tend to use them as a redemption mechanism - I-am-doing-my-bit - syndrome.! What else can I do ?
Well for starters ,you can spend a few hours with them talking,listening,playing.Infact even if you do nothing just be there,it will redefine the way you lead your life.

Dont stop yourself.Go ahead and be a friend.






image courtesy : here

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